Crumbling
by Ballades
Summary: F!Hawke, Anders, and the beginning of the end.  An exploration of their relationship between acts 2 and 3, right when things start to fall apart.


**A/N: **The slow unraveling of Hawke and Anders' relationship is very compelling. I wanted to explore what Hawke might have felt in those times when it was just the two of them.

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><p>Hawke wakes to the fading warmth of a dying fire in the grate.<p>

It's the middle of the night, and Anders is sleeping fitfully beside her. She knows his sleep has been poor because the covers are all askew, the topmost layers pushed off to the foot of the bed until only the thin sheet on the bottom remains. He is facing her, and as Hawke sits up to reclaim the underappreciated coverlets, she sees blonde hair, tousled and tangled, lying on the pillow. Hawke lies back down, pulling her covers with her, and without thinking, smoothes Anders' hair.

It's a cold night in Kirkwall. Hawke's body feels stiff, tense, and it is with effort that she forces herself to relax, sink into the bed. Her own sleep has been troubled of late, troubled because of the growing unrest between the mages and templars, but mostly troubled because of Anders and Justice. A storm is brewing and she can almost smell it, like the telltale ozone before a deluge of rain.

She is losing him.

They still manage to pretend somehow that things are fine, but Hawke is no fool. She knew when she said her platitudes - and she did mean them, those years ago - that things would never last with him. For a long time she hoped that loving him fiercely would stave off the inevitable, but that hope had gone. Justice – Vengeance, really – is a greater part of him now, and Hawke does not like the change that is taking place. He smiles less, and has taken to pacing. He spends his free evenings sitting in front of her fire, staring into it, staring through it, contemplating. Plotting. He goes out only to resistance meetings instead of the Hanged Man. Varric and Isabela haven't seen him in several weeks. She knows, because they'd asked her about him. It has been long enough now that they have stopped asking.

Anders sighs in his sleep and rolls over. In an almost instinctive gesture, Hawke slips an arm over him, presses her forehead to the smooth, pale flesh of his back. She inhales deeply, breathing him in, savoring what will probably be the last quiet moment for a long time.

Her sense of magic tells her that Justice, too, is uneasy.

Damn Justice, and damn what he's doing to Anders. Hawke's hold on her lover tightens, and she draws in a steady breath. If she could talk to Justice without Anders there, she would. She'd ask him to get out, leave what pieces of Anders remained so she could pick them up and put him back together. Without Justice, she and Anders could be happy, whatever happy meant as two apostates in Kirkwall. Without Justice, there could be hope instead of this driving, inexorable rush towards ruin.

Anders turns to face her, and it is then that Hawke realizes that she's been talking aloud. He says nothing, but his eyes speak volumes. Hawke stares at him, her face flushing, a bitter sting sweeping across her eyes. She is equal parts embarrassed and aghast.

Hawke doesn't know she's crying until Anders brushes a tear away. His expression has softened, and despite it all he manages a smile for her. "That would be...a dream," he says softly, his thumb lingering at the corner of her eye. "I told you from the very start, love, that being with me would only end badly. But you've stayed, far longer than I thought you would." He pauses to gather his thoughts. "It's moments like this," he continues, "when I see you unguarded, when I see that you truly care for me... these moments I will hold in my heart, and treasure." Anders moves to cup her cheek with his hand, the same way he did that night she left her door open. "Marian, you've kept me human."

And then he kisses her so tenderly that she thinks her heart might explode.

When their lips part, Hawke realizes that she is trembling. Anders is no better off himself; under her fingers she can feel heat rising from him, his pulse quickening erratically. It is a long time before she can catch her breath again, but when she does, Hawke understands that her heart has indeed broken into pieces. She finds it difficult to speak.

So instead, she lets her actions do it for her.

The beginning of the end is multi-hour affair, and when they are finished it is already dawn. Hawke lies entwined with Anders, limbs like jelly, her face buried in the crook of his neck, drifting in and out of light sleep while the sunlight strengthens in the room. Finally, Anders moves to get up. Hawke shivers as they separate, their skins peeling apart, leaving a sharp chill behind.

She catches his hand as he stands, looks into the warm, brown eyes she has spent years loving. He squeezes her hand briefly, then looks away. Her hand thuds softly as it hits the mattress.

Hawke knows Anders won't be back tonight.


End file.
